


Over the Rainbow

by IspeakfortheQueen



Category: Oz - L. Frank Baum
Genre: 1920's AU, AU, Angst, Dreaming, F/F, Queens, Return to Childhood, Yearning, adult au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IspeakfortheQueen/pseuds/IspeakfortheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which the time between The Road to Oz and The Emerald City of Oz is much longer.  That is- Dorothy leaves Oz after one of her many visits but due to troubles on the farm must stay in Kansas for some time.  Eventually she believes her adventures in Oz to be nothing more than a dream she once had.  Meanwhile Ozma grows up alongside the girl in her Magic Picture. Set roughly in the mid 1920's. Ratings may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovesickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello- I had a strange emotional idea for an Oz story and I'm not really sure where it's going- I just know that it's angsty and meant to encapsulate the vague feeling of remembering how you imagined the grandeur of the Oz books when you first read them as a child. Ratings may change.

The palace halls are devoid of their usual cheer.

It makes the princess sick.

The light is dyed a toxic green as it passes through the tinted windows and stretches itself across the elaborate carpets and cool marble floors like pelts of some hunted exotic beast. The light sinks through her skin and has a nauseating affect. Like being too racked with stomach flu to eat solid food and the lingering sensation of applesauce and lime gelatin stuck to the back of the throat. It reminds her of the fact that she has barely touched any of the lavish meals set before her in the last two months.

She tries to block out the light. There is too much green here. Elegant pale fingers find their way to the velvet curtains hanging over the tall windows. 

The softness of the fabric catches her off guard and she has to take a step back.

Though a darker shade of green than the curtains in her private quarters, the drapery is all too much like the ones that hang around a curious gilded picture.

She’s afraid she will look out these windows into the gardens and see that pretty blonde face that hasn’t reached out to her from that picture frame in years. The pretty figure of a girl grown well into her late teens holding a bouquet of vibrant flowers and handing them to the princess just as she had done when they were children.

It has been four years since Dorothy’s last departure. 

The princess steps away from the window. Visibly shaken, she leaves the corridor.

-*-

It wasn’t until years after Dorothy had left that Ozma realized what she had meant to her.

She had let her go knowing full well that Dorothy was needed in Kansas. Life on the prairie was not as nice as life in a fairyland but the girl’s dear old relatives needed someone to keep their spirits up. If anyone could keep the spirits up it was Dorothy. The girl came and went so often, Ozma didn’t notice her absence at first.

Then the princess noticed a decline in her own personal life. There seemed to be no one to have an amiable chat with, no one to share commonalities with; yes her other companions in the palace were fine and well but they did not seem to understand what it was be a young girl trying to grow up and Ozma herself wasn't quite certain about all of it either. The other young girls Ozma reached out to regarded her as a grand princess, someone untouchable and unreachable, which of course, Dorothy never did. Dorothy saw Ozma only as Ozma and that was it. Dorothy knew what it was to wear skirts and act politely in public, but she also knew what it was to climb trees and go on adventures and not concern herself over what she was and wasn't allowed to do as a girl. Dorothy was a limitless array of possibilities who made Ozma feel comfortable in her own skin.

When Dorothy left the princess decided to age herself alongside her moving images of Dorothy in Kansas, in case the farm girl ever came back. Ozma could be there for Dorothy just like Dorothy had been there for Ozma.

Puberty was hell. So many things happened that Ozma never would have expected to happen in her old life and it was not entirely pretty and it was shortly after this did Ozma realize that more than ever she needed someone she could relate to in a casual manner about her changing body. Dorothy lingered in the back of her mind and it seemed soon enough that the Dorothy she knew was much different than the Dorothy she saw now in the Magic Picture. It was this new Dorothy that captivated her. She was tall and slender now, with a face as pretty as ever and yet all still the same. 

Ozma sighed. What a shame that there should be whole deserts, and oceans, and years of forgetfulness between them. The Princess very much wanted to know this new Dorothy, with her aches and pains of an adolescence quickly shed away and her new ways of seeing things. Did her thoughts still match hers? 

The years passed on and a different sort of longing came about.

The desire was intense and the gratification was sparse and only came in sleep and moments of loneliness until one day the Princess awoke at three in the morning to bitten lips and the hazy memory of a dream of blushes and sighs.

And still there was no sign at four in the afternoon on Saturdays, or at any other time or date for that matter, that Dorothy would return to the Princess' arms. 

Ozma began to fear that Dorothy had been a beautiful hallucination. Of course she could never be, no, not when she was the most iconic face in the entire country. 

The little girl who fell from the sky. What a legend.

Ozma scoffed at the thought, “Has a fairy queen such as myself become so engrossed in a myth?”

Everyone believed in Dorothy. It could be said that the same amount believed in the Princess. Few people believed in Ozma like Dorothy did, though. What would become of Ozma while Dorothy was away? 

Ozma shudders at the thought and removes herself from her pacing in the hall and heads to a room holding nothing but a picture frame and a set of worn chairs. With one last morose looks at the picture frame she closes the velvet curtain that surrounds it.

She steps away. She has a country to rule.


	2. Child's Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know if the first story would get a companion piece or not, but it might be fun to play with this alternate time line. We'll just see where it goes from here.

The lingering sense of something forgotten has been plaguing Dorothy for weeks. She reassess her list of chores: feed the chickens, wash the dishes, sweep the floors of the house, both upstairs and downstairs. She finds that she hasn't overlooked anything. Still the feeling persists. 

It's not something she dwells upon, for when she considers it all, she realizes that she had her whole childhood to linger in silly fantasies. Still, she can't help but notice the nagging sense that she's missed an opportunity somewhere. 

It happens when she walks past the cornfields or sees her aging uncle raise his axe to chop firewood. It happens when her aunt puts up a tattered black umbrella in the wagon on the way to church. Something slips in her mind and she's remembering something she can't quite put her finger on. It isn't an event that she remembers, it's more of a feeling that something great and wonderful once happened to her. 

As soon as the feeling starts to take a hold of her she only shrugs or laughs and dismisses them as memories of her childhood make-believe games in matter of seconds. She feels better when she does. After all, it is childish to dwell on those things and Dorothy is growing up.


	3. The Least You Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd add another chapter. I'd like this story to go somewhere but we got to wallow in some exposition first.

Bud Charles, who lives outside of Butterfield and attends our church, asked if it was alright if he married me. I could only stare back at him, eyes dry and head dizzy from the lights of the barn dance.  


Finally I blinked.  


"Did you ask my Uncle Henry?"  


"I will."  


"You haven't yet?"  


"He's got too much on his mind Dorothy, when the time comes I'll ask him and we can get settled down. You can help on my parent's farm and send money to your folks when it comes in. I just want to know what you think first? Would you marry me if I asked?"  


"What if my Uncle Henry says no?" He won't. Because he knows that Bud is a hard worker on his father's farm and Aunt Em is good friends with Mrs. Charles and invites her over for a little cake after church (though Mrs. Charles almost always declines because she has too many mouths too feed and it wouldn't be fare to us if she brought the whole family over to eat all our food).  


"Never mind, Dorothy, what do _you_ say?"  


"What if I say no?"  


"Then you'll break my heart Dorothy, is that what you want?"  


He was on his knees, big grey eyes pleading. Bud has sandy hair like mine and between the two of us our children would have too many damned freckles. Bud isn't particularly bright, but then again, it feels like no one out here is as brilliant as you want them to be, but you must love them anyway because they are trying their best.  


“No,” I sighed, “But only when it rains and the crops start coming in. And only after you talk to my uncle.”  


“Oh Dorothy! You’ve made me the happiest man alive!”   When he kissed me his chin was greasy and his breath tasted like chewing tobacco. His pursed lips touched mine for only a moment, a second really, but I was relieved all the same when it was over.   


\- - -  


If I ever leave this farmland, where ever I go I will never forget the musty smell of dry grass. It covers the land and it covers the crumbling earth that Toto, poor old thing, now scrapes at to find some critter he must have buried as a pup. Whatever it was, its bones have become part of the dust now.  


Not that I'm leaving any time soon. The Charles' house and farm will be no different from the one I grew up in - another grey building made out of trees that grew too faraway to call this flatness home. There will be more mouths to feed and there will be more chores to attend to. My Aunt and Uncle have always shown kindness and it might be lacking under Bud’s roof. He will try to kiss me again with his greasy chin and tobacco breath and in his bed in the corner of his house. His big rough hands will try to move over my body but I must try to love him because he has chosen me as his wife and Aunt Em is friends with his mother and he is a hard worker on his father's farm. I must try to love him because he is doing his best and that is the least I can do.  



	4. Rosehip Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glinda makes her first appearance in this fic.

Around sunrise, when no one is awake enough to form a parade, the red wagon passes through one of the city’s lesser known south gates. Truth be told there hasn’t been a proper parade for sometime, unless it was requested by a foreign visitor. Around the time when her aging made her the equivalent of eighteen or nineteen Ozma found the whole process of having a parade to welcome her in and out of the city walls rather silly and frankly rather tiring. She tried to express her opinions on the matter to the public, and while most took her request well enough, there were some who still insisted on sprinkling a little ticker tape out of their windows when she made her way down the boulevards when she returned from her travels. Ozma didn’t have the heart to take away their fun, but some mornings she was not in the mood to be met with a flurry of confetti. The sky is a watery violet as the stars dim and the faintest portion of the sun is coming over the blue hills in the East.  


The Sawhorse travels swiftly, and in short time the wagon creaks onto unpaved roads, kicking up dust as it makes its way through farm and then forest land. Ozma doesn’t say a word to the creature pulling her carriage, but is glad all the same for the companionable silence.  


Passing through a wheat field, Ozma thinks about Dorothy’s stories of Kansas and for the first time in a while Ozma wonders how her old friend is doing. She hasn’t checked the Picture in around a year- standing by had proven not entirely beneficial to her well-being.  


The wagon slows when the road becomes paved again and the morning air is thick with the scent of roses.  


The court of Glinda the Good is a pleasant change from constant buzz of the Emerald City Palace. There are of course soldiers and maid servants everywhere, but they seem to move easier here. Only the younger girls get starry eyed when they see the Princess. The walls are painted in cool white, sparingly accented with rosy pinks and reds. While she never states it in her meeting with the Sorceress, Ozma remarks to herself that it is a good thing she took this trip, for if she needed to stare at anymore green walls, she would likely scream.  


Glinda is gracious enough to get down to business and discuss the political climates of lands outside of Oz first, and then Ozma’s own government plans. There are no social niceties, no “How are you doing?”, no “How are you getting along?”. Glinda knows. Glinda always knows. They sit in the patio in white whicker garden chairs drinking rose hip tea from dainty white china while Glinda’s girls flutter about their tasks in that elegant way they have.  


The Princess catches the eyes of the red haired maid pouring her tea and the two make eyes for a second. Glinda notices, Glinda always notices, but she doesn’t say a word. It is nice to see Ozma no longer obsessing over the girl in the painting.  


When it seems the official business is all squared away, Glinda dismisses her staff and leans a little more easily in her seat.  


“You’re doing well.”  


Ozma flushes, having not wanted for the Sorceress to have brought up her well being. “I am,” she hides her annoyance by cooly sipping her tea and setting the cup and saucer down on the garden table.  


Glinda gives her a smirk and Ozma feels the Witch’s blue eyes bore into her. She can’t lie to Glinda but part of her is frustrated that her answer “I am” was mostly true.  


“And?” Ozma finally gives in after the pause.  


Glinda shakes her head. “That’s all. I was just stating the fact.”    


“I still miss her.”    


“I know you do.”  


“Somedays I miss her terribly-”  


_I know you do,_ says Glinda’s eyes.  


“But lately, it’s been… getting easier.”  


_I know._  


Ozma swallows, not for the first time unnerved by Glinda’s quiet implacability. "She was a good friend and- I don't know if I will ever stop loving her." Ozma cringes. It's as if she's speaking about a dead girl and not someone alive and well in another land. But her words are true enough.  


Glinda nods in recognition. Her blue eyes seems to say, _I know, you have a big heart Ozma, but it's good you're moving on_.  


“Now,” says Glinda out loud, standing up to her full height, white robes draping elegantly over her tall stature, “I understand that in your pocket you have a list of magical ingredients requested by our friend the Wizard for his work at the City Palace. Let’s go to the workshop and get those shall we?”  


\- - -

Ozma leaves the palace with a parcel of powders and potions and can’t help but grin when she thinks about how pleased Oscar will be to receive these.  


On the journey back the Sawhorse asks, “What did you and Glinda talk about?”    


“Oh, not much,” sighs Ozma, eyes sweeping past the wheat fields to the city ahead.  



	5. Negotiations

If water is coming it is taking its sweet time but after more dry months than we want, we wonder if there is any water at all. There is more than a wedding at stake, and I am more than relieved to push aside the idea of getting married. Bud has not come around in some time.  


For a while we get along fine with the well water, but the cows cannot graze and poor Imogene’s calf cannot feed properly because his mother cannot feed properly. The chickens are still getting on somehow.  


What crops we do get are dry and mealy and do not sell very well. Uncle Henry returns from town, skinny and tired as ever after more negotiations at the bank. He says he saw Bud there. He says Bud was “looking mighty glum” when he saw him.  


Aunt Em and I carry on with the housekeeping. There are things we need, repairs that need to be made, but we cannot afford them just yet.  


At night the crickets sing uneasily- like they are trying to cheer us up with a song that they don't quite believe in themselves. Imogene’s calf collapses in the field one day and that night her sorrowful braying drowns out the insects.  


A storm sweeps the land and kicks up all that dry earth that has no thriving vegetation to hold it together. Deep horrible winds block out all sound and all we can do is sit in the shelter with kerchiefs around our mouths and noses and when it is all over we crawl out of the ground to find everything even worse than before.  


\---  


A delegate from Noland announces that King Bud wishes to extend a proposal for the Princess Ozma’s hand in marriage and an alliance between the two countries. For a single second the Princess looks down at the man from her throne with an expression that can only be deemed as “dour” before granting him one of her signature gracious smiles.  


“While King Bud is truly the best king your country has seen, what could the Kingdom of Noland offer to the Land of Oz that it does not already have?”  


“The Kingdom of Noland can provide many things, for instance, protection from invading armies!”  


“The Land of Oz is surrounded on all sides by dangerous deserts that are passible only by means of magic or by air- and the Land of Oz has a charm on it to keep it invisible from far up in the air.”  


“The Kingdom of Noland could offer you fabulous wealth.”  


“While bragging is not my intention, I must remind you that Oz is the most prosperous country in all of the fairylands. Not only are we supplied with a vast amount of natural resources, our economic system is such that everyone is kept financially content and have little complaint."  


“The King of Noland offers his heart and affections,” the delegate jumps into his third offer and the Princess is well aware that this has all been rehearsed a thousand times prior to the meeting. The delegate, dressed in a very official looking sash dyed the royal colors of Noland, was probably muttering this conversation to himself as he was being whisked away over the desert.  


“He promises his love and to only stay true to you dear Princess, for he says you are by far the most glorious and elegant figure in all the Fairylands, if not the world.”  


“Your King’s words are flattering but if he is basing his fidelity on my public appearances, which as a King he very well knows are images carved to keep my place on the throne, then he knows very little about love and even less about his potential bride. Bud is a dear friend, and a charming fellow, please do not take my refusal as an insult to him. If it were his sister, Princess Fluff, asking my hand then I may reconsider the offer, but for the time being I am afraid that I am not looking to be wed anytime soon.”  


Ozma sits through the delegates profuse apologies and bows and good byes and heaves a sigh of relief when court is over.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even realize both the characters I was using were named Bud until I was editing this just now. It's a coincidence made possible as I always work on this story late at night and in bits and pieces before stringing something together for a chapter.


	6. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you sit in your room and suddenly remember the games you played as a child? How did they work? Did toys aid you or did you guide yourself through this world you created?

First the world is silent. You gaze out at the shaken grass and the house you grew up in, with it’s roof shingles torn off and window glass broken. Your Aunt looks like she is about to weep at the sight of it all. Your Uncle doesn’t say a word but his face is suddenly older than you’ve ever seen it before. You can’t hear a thing until your dog finally barks and whimpers at your feet letting you know that he is hungry, having not had a bite of food for the last several long hours. You realize you are also very hungry, but mostly very tired.

You’ve been meaning to make repairs on the house and now you have no excuse not to, even if it means skimming the bottom of your family’s funds. As much as these prairies have been your home, you’ve never had enough here.

Do you remember when you were eight years old and you and your uncle went on a ship to Australia? Do you remember why you went in the first place? Was it because the doctors said it would be good for his health or was it just a lark because the times were good and you could afford it? The ship’s crew adored you because you were sweet but precocious and you were always showing off that farm girl pride by taking care of the chickens in the coops near the ship’s kitchens. When you arrived in Australia you found a stray cat that you were going to bring home but you lost it when you were visiting relatives in California on the way back. Do you remember what happened in Australia or when you were visiting your "Californy" cousins? Do you remember the people you met or the things you saw? Or do you remember the imaginary games you played when you were bored during your travels?

You had made up a whole fairy world, filled with glittering palaces covered in gemstones. There were talking animals and dragons and towns populated by toys and ordinary objects come to life. Sometimes you lived in one of the palaces as a princess. Sometimes you were an adventuress riding lions and tigers over dangerous mountains trails. Always, always, you were amongst friends. Even in your fantasies you were amongst people who loved and cared for you.

When the house is deemed safe enough to enter, your aunt hands you a broom and you start by sweeping away the dust from the storm.

When did you start playing those games? Was it when you were in grammar school? No, it was when that tornado hit when you were six. Nobody expected much of you when you’re six. You do the share of chores you can do because you’re so small but the rebuilding of the house and the money in the bank was not on your shoulders. The adults were occupied with that business, so you made up business of your own. How would you save the kingdom from the invading armies of gnomes or the witches and wizards that fooled everyone with their magic?

When you can live in the house again your Uncle grows sick. The land has forsaken your family. Nothing grows anymore. Either you must yield more crops or the bank will have your house.

How did you enter that fairy land you made up? When you started your pretend adventures did you ask to enter that world or did it just happen? Once when you were waiting for a train from San Francisco, there was an earthquake that slowed down the lines. You waited at the station for hours and dreamed about falling into a great crack in the ground and finding glass cities below the earth’s crust. 

As you sweep you realize that that’s where you lost track of your cat. She must have run off at the station. Poor thing probably got stuck in the tracks and hit by a steam engine. 

Emptying the dust off the back porch-you rack your mind with how that worked. There were lots of places you visited in your daydreams, but there was one place you were always trying to get to that was not Kansas. 

On the porch you see your uncle’s wagon coming up the road from town, his body hunched over and face sad. You do not need to ask what happened at the bank. 

There was a city, there was a palace, there was a place. There was a place where you were princess and there was another princess, a girl who wore poppies in her chestnut hair, who was the true ruler of the fairy land and you two were the best of friends.

Your aunt nods solemnly as your uncle explains everything over your small dinner. Your mind wanders. You don’t want to hear what he’ll say about your home.

Your princess friend knew how much you loved your life on the farm and made a deal with you. Should you ever want to come back to that fairy land all you had to do was cross your fingers at four o’ clock on Sunday and then she would use her fairy magic to bring you back to her.

Under the table you practice crossing you fingers like you used to. Why was it Sunday? Was it because after church and the social calls there was there nothing left to do but go on a social call with your fairy friends? 

Anyhow, your family has thirty days to pack up your belongings and find a new way of life.


	7. Exhaling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some implied metaphor-bation towards the end of this but it's more angsty than sexy. Just a heads up. Also, this is one of the last expositional chapters that really revels in this lonely feeling. I just really wanted to extend the emotional and textural details, and obviously I'll be doing that in future chapters but how long can we really be reading the back and forth dialogue of "Dorothy life's sucks and Ozma's not doing so hot"? Like God, something's gotta happen, it's Oz after all.

One morning in high summer you wake up too early, before Jellia, the maid, has even come in with your breakfast. The sun is shining too brightly through the green tinted windows and you squint through that light that tastes like lime gelatin. There’s that sickly feeling in your throat again. Your body is hot and your hair is greasy. The blankets are too heavy even though last night the weight of all the silks and velvets somehow felt comforting- the pressure of the cloth forcing you to rest. You hadn’t thought about how it would feel in the morning. They weigh you down and the space is too tight and too small you can’t breath until you throw them off and let your body exhale, skin cooling down and sweat turning cold. You are awake now and there is no chance of rest for a long while. 

You sit up in bed and look around your room. The gold clock on the mantle tell you that Jellia won’t be in for another hour. You stand up slowly, feet hitting the green carpet, and cross the room to the boudoir. Of all the dazzling garments in there you chose the thin white dressing gown of silk and toss it on as if there is somewhere you need to be soon. But that’s just the thing, you don’t need to be anywhere for another hour. You return to the bedroom and stand in the middle of it. You’ve been throwing yourself into your work so often that you rarely have had time to yourself. That’s fine with you- you are not entirely certain what you would do with that time. You could read a book, but the books are in the library. You could write a letter but everyone you would like to talk to is not so far away that you need to write to them. The clock on the mantle feels like it is ticking too slowly. Everything is too quiet, too still, and your body feels like it is taking in everything else too intensely. The clock is slow but it is too loud. The soft carpet feels like it is scratching at your feet. That sticky sour feeling is back in your throat and a distant memory of a friend is back in your head again. You haven’t looked at the Magic Picture in a very long time.  

Your hair is too greasy for you to abide. What you need is a bath and while you can do that yourself you suspect Jellia will be put off from her morning routine if she is not able to assist you in that task. You can start by brushing your hair. You had it cut into a short bob a while ago and you quite like how it looks and how it feels like the hair you had when you were a boy. Even better it doesn't tangle as easily. You select a gold hair brush and sit in front of a vanity cut from an enormous piece of emerald. 

Never mind Dorothy leaving, you were just children. If she were to come back would she still understand you like she used to? Would she recognize you and would you recognize her if you ran into each other in a crowd?

Standing up you untie the robe and look at your woman’s body. You have hips and breasts and all the things promised to mortal women. You’ve grown up and you’ve grown wiser in your experiences as someone growing. But you’ve never grown for yourself. You grew up for her and you grew up for your people and maybe the lack of selfishness and self pity is the point of it all. 

You draw your bath without Jellia’s assistance (you’ll apologize to her later) and take the time to know your body. Fingers pass into perfumed water and as they drip over breasts and hips you close your eyes. For a moment you imagine it is her loving you and holding you completely for all that you’ve achieved without her. Her visage distorts and shifts because you can’t quite hold her face in your mind and she’s not really an imaginary person making love to you she’s just _you and your own fingers and your own longings._ Your fingers stop. _This isn’t working._ Next time you visit Glinda you’ll tell the Sorceress that you’ve achieved so much on your own but in your mind you’ll know it’s not true and Glinda’s magic pearl will turn black and both of you will know you are lying and your heart will keep on aching for someone you can’t quite remember until you are an old woman who turns into dust like all the selfish witches in the history of your kingdom.

That sour feeling in your throat escapes into the bathwater through a bubbled sob and you sink below the water.

\- - -

You’ve cancelled the Royal Court for the day. You are wearing your pants and riding boots, which have always felt much more comfortable than the dresses you wear at the palace. The corn and wheat fields rush past you over dusty country roads. You are riding on the back of your second oldest friend, the Wooden Sawhorse, and the both of you are on the way to visit your first oldest friend. It is the time of year when the first of the summer squashes are coming into fruit and you always did love hearing Jack talk about his garden.


	8. Grounding (Temporary Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude - Once I figure out how to add images (for I did hope this would be a mixed media piece), I'll give the proper illustrational interlude and then add this to another chapter, but for now have this break from all the angst.

The Princess falls into a routine that she finds much more suitable. Monday through Friday is for court and affairs of state. Saturday is for any unfinished business that may have been left unattended. Sunday (and maybe part of Saturday if there’s any left over) is reserved solely for visiting friends, reading books in the libraries, or perhaps just enjoying the sun on one of the benches in the royal gardens. Ozma has taken a particular liking to helping Jack Pumpkinhead tend to his plot of land out in the Winkie Country. 

Ozma likes the feeling of her hands in the dirt and how the ground gives when her boots steps on the head of the shovel. She likes how easily the fruit comes off the vine this time of year. She likes the yellow and orange tomatoes with their sweet tangy smell and fine fine hairs that glitter in the sunlight. She really likes the yellow squash, the tubular kind and the flat round ones with ridges that look like pie tins with their tiny spiky hairs all over, that ooze clear green liquid from the stem as soon as its cut. There’s a little corn but Ozma knows that Jack doesn’t grow much of it out of respect to the Scarecrow, who is very proud of the vast cornfields surrounding his newly built tower mansion. Along the roads yellow pears are falling down from trees into buckets and the very first of the yellow apples are beginning to fruit. Ozma asks Jack if he remembers the blackberries that would grow in thick brambles around Mombi’s house this time of year, but Jack replies that he was much too young and too busy fearing for his life at the time to notice.

Ozma remembers Jack being terribly annoying when they were both younger- so to speak- but now she appreciates his steady presence. Jack doesn’t demand a lot, aside from help keeping his head on straight from time to time, but that’s easily remedied. He’s happy to provide polite conversation, or to work in silence, or sometimes just to hum a strange little song to himself as he prunes and pinches. After the garden work is done and the harvest is set in baskets for the market (for Jack never uses any of his crops aside for the pumpkins, either for a new head or the occasional house repair) the two will sit on the porch and chat. If the Sawhorse is with Ozma he will come over and join the conversation too and the three will laugh about the adventures they’ve had or apologize for something trivial someone said the week before.

Sometimes Ozma will visit the Scarecrow, who always has something witty to say, or Nick Chopper, who always has something kind to say, or even the Wogglebug, who always has something brilliantly pompous to say, but Sunday night she will ride back to the palace and start the week anew.

\- - -

One week during this summer harvest season Jack disappears completely. Ozma asks about for him, still avoiding the usage of the Magic Picture. Eureka informs her that he’s gone on some sort of quest and Ozma asks no more about it, but does hope that he will be back in time for her birthday. 

Sure enough, the next time the Princess sees Jack Pumpkinhead is when he stumbles rather haphazardly into the banquet hall not ten minutes late with his clothes quite torn and his pumpkin head all scratched up. He refuses to say a word of his adventures until dessert is served. 

When Ozma sees that her birthday cake is decorated with deep purple blackberries and there is blackberry ice cream to go with it, she bursts from her seat at the head of the table to hug her old friend and promises that she will personally carve him a new head as soon as she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ozma's birthday is in late August. I wrote this in late August but got too hung up and figuring out how to add images that I didn't want to post for a while but not posting is holding me back from writing more (farther down the line of the story I mean, the next part is almost ready), so I figured I'd just post it.


	9. Toto Is a Good Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, I'm Sorry (for the lateness and contents of this chapter- I swear I gets better from here). Bear with me.

Dorothy has been mulling over the exact rules she used to make. It was … cross her fingers on a Sunday wasn’t it?

The Gales must be out by Monday morning. They’ve sold what they can, including Imogene and the horses. Mr. Charles is going to drive them into town in his truck. Dorothy will sit in the bed with the trunks and with Bud Charles and his two older brothers who are helping the Gales move into the hotel in town. Uncle Henry is too old and weak to work but Em’s church connections have landed her and Dorothy positions at the tailor shop sewing men's shirts.

Dorothy isn’t concerned about the job or the living situation. Life in town will be less isolated than life on the farm. Aunt Em can see her church friends regularly and the Gales won’t have to go through this alone. Dorothy knows she’ll do fine at the tailor shop, even if she's never had the patiences to sew a straight seam- at the very least she’ll end up sewing on buttons and that suits her all right. All in all this new life is starting to seem rather exciting to Dorothy, she just wishes the circumstances were different.

Placing all of her few but cherished belongings in a trunk is a tiresome task if only because it is so emotionally draining. Folding blankets and clothes she thinks through those old rules from her childhood games. No, no, it was cross her fingers on a Saturday. Yes, because Saturday was baking day so the food would be fresh on Sunday. She remembers playing with Toto at her side while the smell of Aunt Em’s bread and church cake rose from the kitchen oven up to her room. It was definitely Saturday.

Dorothy feels prepared for life in town and tells her Uncle so at dinner on the last Friday evening. 

“As much as I will miss the farm I realize the place does not really matter. So long as I have you two and Toto I will be just fine.”

Uncle Henry’s face turns grayer than usual. He gives a wry smile and Dorothy immediately recognizes that it is covering for something else.   “That is the right way of thinking about our predicament Dorothy,” he starts, “But- well- “ He sighs. “I did not want to tell you this until the last moment. I did not want you remembering your last days here with such sorrow-“

“What is it Uncle Henry?”

Uncle Henry glances at Aunt Em who only replies with a tight lipped glance at her plate. She doesn’t want to be the one to say what Henry is about to say.

“The hotel in town does not allow dogs.” 

Dorothy’s eyes widen and they dart to Toto, grey and wiry, sleeping in front of the stove. Suddenly her heart is in her throat. She can’t believe she overlooked this one possibility of moving to town. She would protest or ask for some sort of special arrangement to be made but Toto is so old. She knows exactly what her practical Uncle will say just as he says it, “And Toto is getting awfully old. He can’t catch mice or chase birds from the fields like he used to.”

Toto has been with Dorothy since she moved to the farm. Toto was her first playmate even before she went to school. The only time Dorothy every left Toto behind was when she went traveling. Then she had left him to protect Aunt Em and the farm while Uncle Henry was away.

“He is not much more than lap dog now Dorothy,” says Uncle Henry, “A fine lap dog I might add, but what good is a lap dog when its owners are never home for it to have a lap to sit on? Toto is used to the big open fields. The quarters of a hotel room will be too stifling and too lonesome.”

Dorothy can’t pry her eyes away from Toto now. It’s as if every second is her last time seeing him, she needs to memorize his image, even if her vision is growing blurry from the tears welling up.

“I thought Monday morning, we could go down to the old pasture where he used to like to chase up those ground squirrels and-“ Dorothy cannot hear the end of what Uncle Henry is suggesting. The words come out of his mouth but they glide over her ears without passing through. The only sound she registers is the blood pounding in her ears, her heart is too loud and oh, she won’t tell Toto of his fate- she just couldn’t- but he will be able to sense her sadness and he will know even if she can’t bring herself to tell him- that little dog is too smart for his own good.

She nods in reply but she can’t feel herself doing it. Before she knows it Uncle Henry is passing her his handkerchief out of sympathy and she blows her nose loudly, only now feeling how wet her face is. 

“Oh I am so sorry for crying-“ she apologizes, coming out of her shock, “I am so ashamed, I did not realize I was doing that. I don't know what came over me.”

“I don't blame you for crying, Dorothy,” says Uncle Henry reaching over to squeeze Dorothy’s hand from across the table, “You have every reason to cry. Toto is a good dog. I will be sorry to see him go too.”

Dorothy nods sadly and blows her nose into the handkerchief again.


	10. Emerald City Palace - Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well our mourning period is over, let's get to it!

Business from Friday spills over into Saturday and court drags on. Princess Ozma is outwardly calm but inwardly impatient. She would much rather be using this sunny afternoon to ride the Sawhorse out to the Winkie Country to visit Jack. 

It takes all that she has in her not to start squirming in her throne. Just when it seems that court has finally finished for the day, an ambassador from Ev comes rushing into the throne room to inform her of activity in the underground Nome Kingdom.

“Roquat is planning something! Something big!” The small man from Ev is full of nervous energy. 

“Roquat is always planning something ‘big’,” the Princess replies sourly. She would rather this be over. “Do you have any particulars on this development?”

“I’ve heard rumors! He’s building an army! And digging a tunnel running beneath the desert to conquer the Land of Oz!”

The Princess blinks. “You have come all the way from the Land of Ev to deliver me a rumor?” Her tone is more than incredulous.

“My apologies, your Highness," he wrings the official purple sash that's been draped over his skinny frame, "King Evardo has sent me all the way fro the Land of Ev to learn if a rumor is true or not, by means of your Magic Picture. If the rumors that the Nome King is building this tunnel are true then your country must prepare the best plan of action that you see suit for the situation. If the rumors are not true then at the very least it will cause a great peace of mind to the people of the countries that neighbor the Nome Kingdom. If he can reach and plunder Oz, then Kingdoms such as Ev are certainly done for.”  

Murmurs and whispers ripple through the court as soon as the ambassador finishes speaking. Ozma wishes Evardo had just sent a letter informing her of this, instead of an ambassador who would speak in front of a public audience. On one hand the Princess doesn’t want the rumors to leave court and get out of hand and spread fear amongst her people. On the other hand when she took the throne she promised her people a transparent government and a public audience certainly upheld that. Well that settles it. Princess Ozma knows the right thing to do is to go and look in the Magic Picture. She shouldn’t be so impatient- in all likeliness, the rumor will be false and it will be over shortly.

She waves to Oscar. “Wizard, please ready the Magic Picture in the Public Viewing Room. I have no doubt our court will wish to see the outcome of these rumors.”

“Yes your Majesty,” says Oscar. He bows before swiftly exiting the room. Ozma has the vague impression that the Wizard thinks this a wise idea as well. 

She smiles graciously at the ambassador, rises from her throne, and without a word leads a crowd of courtiers through the halls of the palace to the Public Viewing Room.

The room, on the ground floor of the palace, was a few chambers away from the throne room. It had been built much like an any lecture hall one would find at a college or university- but instead of a stage for a speaker or lecturer to stand at the bottom of the descending rows of steps and seats, there was only a wall with a couple of hooks nailed into the lower left hand corner.

Everyone is finding seats when Oscar enters at the top of the steps, carrying a larger gilded picture frame beneath his arm. He walks down to the wall and places the frame on the hooks.

The Princess Ozma and the Evite ambassador have seats in the front most row, along with other important advisors such as the Scarecrow (who is visiting from the Winkie Country) and The Shaggy Man (who saves a spot for Oscar between himself and Princess Ozma).  
   
“Will even those in the back rows be able to see the picture, Wizard dear?” asks Ozma. She hasn’t seen the Magic Picture in some time. It had seemed so big on the walls of her private rooms. On the wall of the Viewing Room, with so many more people watching, it feels like it could be a postage stamp.

“Of course!” crows Oscar. He makes a series of complicated hand gestures at picture frame, half of which Ozma knows by now is just for show and has nothing to do with magic. Oscar is a performer after all. Still, the Magic Picture, frame and all, seems to be growing larger and larger until it fits the entire space of the wall. Some courtiers clap and cheer at this trick.

Ozma takes in a sharp inhale of breath when she suddenly sees that the Magic Picture is still showing her last request, however long ago it was when she made it. 

Projected for all to see is an image of a shabby wooden farmhouse which looks much more worse for wear than the last time Ozma asked to see it. It sits in the middle of a field of tall dry grass. In the distance is a dilapidated barn and a small very old dog moving very slowly to sniff below a weathered leafless tree.

Ozma’s eyes bulge and the sickly lime gelatin sensation is half way up her throat when Oscar taps her on the shoulder. She looks up to see his concerned face and catches herself- her expression recedes into that of cool dignity.

“Thank you Wizard,” she says calmly. She stands and waves her hand at the wall. “Show me King Roquat of the Nome Kingdom!” she calls.

The screen door of the farm house starts to open just as the Picture shifts.

For a brief second Ozma wonders she would have seen walk out of the door if she waited just a second longer but the thought disappears as the court gasps.

Before the audience is an image of King Roquat himself digging with a pick axe in what can only be assumed to be an underground tunnel. He is at the head of what looks like an army of many other Nomes, also armed with pick axes and shovels and digging away as fast as they can.

The Princess watches the scene for a few moments. Roquat is yelling something (swearing if the expression on his face is any indication) at an insubordinate nome who is clutching a lantern over Roquat’s head. It’s a startling sight, but at any rate Roquat is sweating and huffing as if he hasn’t taken part in a solid day’s work in quite some time and that makes Ozma laugh. She turns to gauge the rest of the court’s reaction. The reactions are varied but the overall tone seems to be “on edge”. Some people were beginning to weep, some were wringing their hands, and others, like the Evite ambassador, were twisting their mustaches tighter and tighter until they looked rather silly in spite of their anxieties. The Princess sighs. The rumors were based in facts, but how fast rumors spread! She needs to know more.

The Princess waves her arms once more at the Picture. “Show me the land that is above Roquat’s current location!” 

The picture faded into a desert landscape. Vast and endless sand dunes stretched for miles to the east. To the west however, seemed to be the smallest patch of purple grass.

“That is the border between Ev and the Deadly Desert,” squeaks the ambassador. His eyes are bulging now and his mustache is in knots.

“So he is not too far in his digging,” says Ozma loud enough for all to hear, “The Deadly Desert is extremely long, I have walked the length of it with my army once, the Scarecrow here can attest to this fact. We have time! There is no reason to fall to pieces at this sight!"

There was a visitor from Fuddlecomejig at court that day and the Princess has never regretted her words more. “That’s easy for you to say!” he says, holding the puzzle pieces of his head in his hands. 

"I will go visit Glinda the Sorceress and from her Book of Records. From there we will determine the precise details King Roquat’s current plot! With any luck there is no danger to fear!” The Princess chooses to put an emphasis on the last four words. The crowd cheers.

She turns to the ambassador. “Tell King Evardo to send scouts to the outskirts of the Nome Kingdom and see what they can find. Have them send reports here daily- they will be read to the public so they can stay informed. I will also write to King Evardo with these instructions. Thank you for coming here today.” She turns back to the audience, “Court is dismissed.”

The ambassador bows and squeaks out his gratitude while the court files out of the Public Viewing Room. 

“Jellia!” the Princess waves to her head of staff, “Please send word down to the stables. I would like the Sawhorse and Red Wagon ready at the South Gate within an hour. I am going to visit Glinda as soon as I finish writing a letter to King Evardo. Wizard if you would be so kind as to send our ambassador back to Ev, and then place the Magic Picture back in its usual spot. Scarecrow, I'd like to speak with you before I leave for the Quadling Country.”


	11. Gale Farm - Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter prepared long before the previous chapter but wanted to make sure that Ozma and Dorothy's storylines were getting variated.

Uncle Henry has promised that he will not bring Toto out to the field until Sunday. It gives Dorothy an extra day to spend with her beloved pet. 

That this is the last day is very distressing. The sky is has different grey quality to it than usual. It is as if there are storm clouds hanging low in the sky, just ready to burst but they don’t know how. The air doesn’t smell like rain, it just smells dry.

Morning chores are done slowly and carefully and Aunt Em doesn’t do any baking today so there isn’t much to help with in the afternoon. The house doesn’t smell like a Saturday. It smells like dust and empty spaces. The house echoes in strange ways now that most of the items are packed away.

Dorothy sits on her bed upstairs. The metal frame will go to the Charles farm when it’s time to go. Their large family can certainly use it. 

It’s very strange to sit in her room right now. This was the very room where she played as a child. This is the room she was given after that first big storm when she was very young. She always considered it her “new room” but so many years had passed since then hadn’t they?

She was a child when she used to sit here, waiting for her Princess to whisk her away. Her legs seem too long now, stretching beneath her grey gingham skirt. It used to be a dark shade of slate blue but the blue dye has since faded. She lifts Toto onto her lap and he snuffs at her apron. He looks very tired. She speaks very softly to him.

“You already know, don’t you?”

He looks at her with big black eyes and settles closer to her stomach.

“Smart thing,” she whispers, stroking his hair. “We both knew it was gonna happen, I just… do not like to think about these things.”

Toto sighs and presses his nose into her arm so she won't stop stroking him.

“We have today. We have tomorrow.” 

 The room is silent. Dorothy can hear the clock ticking downstairs. They will put that in a trunk when it is time to go. A few minutes pass. Uncle Henry coughs. He’s talking softly to Aunt Em now.

“Did I tell you those stories from when I was little?” asks Dorothy.

Toto rolls his eyes up to her. Of course she did. But he’s happy to listen to her again. Toto has always been a good listener.

There are a few hours before she must start helping to prepare dinner, and she spends them regaling Toto with what she can remember of her adventures in fairyland.

“There was a lion and a tiger, now I can’t recall which one was very hungry and which one was very cowardly but in any case there was a lion and a tiger and each let me ride on their backs when we went on different adventures together.” The clock downstairs ring for the two o’ clock hour. "Once we had to cross a pass, but there was a mechanical giant, with legs on either side of the path, swinging a giant sized hammer that came down on the road at different intervals. The only way to get past the giant was to time yourself very carefully and run very fast through the giant's legs. The Lion and the Tiger could jump run fast enough and leap far enough so they decided they would carry us on their backs. They ran back and forth with everyone on their backs one at a time, between the giant's legs and were so good at leaping that not once did they get struck by the giant's hammer." 

She talks about palaces and poppies and about scarecrows and sorceresses and she doesn’t hear the clock ring for the three o’ clock hour. She reaches into her trunk of mostly packed things and pulls out her primer from grammar school and a pencil. 

“I ought to write all this down, shouldn’t I?” she says to Toto. He sniffs in agreement. 

“I don’t suppose I will have time to think about these old things in town. Life will be different there.”

The pencil hovers over the worn pages. When she thinks back to it all, she knows that the whole thing should read like a storybook. At the same time it all feels like something she’s lived and for some reason that’s very different from something she should write. She doesn’t want to get the details wrong- but there’s no way to get the details right from where she is now. At any rate if she is going to write down her childhood fantasies, it should be written on better paper then the back cover of her old book. She puts the primer and pencil back into the trunk and sits on the floor.

“If I have a child, I will tell him or her the stories,” she says aloud. Toto shuffles over to her side.

“I will tell my child about you too, Toto,” her voice is cracking again and her vision is blurry. She reaches down to stroke him out of habit. “ I will tell them about this place too. I will tell them about the farm and Imogene the cow and how the tornado carried away the first house and how when we were in the cellar I dreamt that I was carried away with that house.”

Toto crawls into her lap to comfort her again and finally, she cries. She cries for the house she grew up in, and the empty farm, and the land which had failed them. She cries for Uncle Henry’s health which will surely not improve in town, and she cries for her and Aunt Em who must now support the family, and above all she cries for Toto. 

“I’m sorry, Toto, I’m not normally one to cry and I certainly did not want to cry in front of you, it’s just that well… God has a strange way of moving things along I suppose.” She wipes her eyes with the heel of her palm. She kisses the dog’s head.

“I love you.” Toto licks her chin in response. “But you already know that,” she laughs. 

Her chest aches. For the first time since her mother died there is such a stinging ache in her that Dorothy can’t even begin to describe it. Toto is happy as ever to console her just as he had back then when they were both so young. Tomorrow evening he won’t be there and on Monday they will leave without him and the ache will be worse but for now he is here in her lap and they are sitting in the old room where they have spent so much time in each other's company.

The light shifts in her window; the slightest adjustment in the clouds that still loom overhead. Suddenly something clicks in Dorothy’s mind. It’s what has been bothering her about the games she used to play. How she got there- 

“Saturday afternoon, four o’ clock, and if it were possible, you would be in my lap because I always wanted to be sure to have you with me. I remember I had asked the Princess to make sure I had you with me before she transported me over there.”

 She stood up, holding Toto close to her chest. “Then I would cross my fingers and hold them out into the air, like this.” She crosses her fingers of her right hand and lifts it in the air. “And I’d say something- oh I don’t remember what I’d say. Something like, ‘Princess, I’d like to go back to your fairyland now’.” She laughs because although she is just joking with Toto, there is a little part of her that wishes that it were that simple. That she could leave this all behind and go back to some magical world where things were just a little bit brighter. It is a silly notion. Toto squirms in her arms and she looks down at him before hugging him tight again. 

Then a very odd and strange coincidence that Dorothy had not counted on occurs.

The clock downstairs strikes four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go on Youtube and play "The Clock Strikes Noon (Apocalypse)" from The Adventure Zone The 11th Hour Soundtrack


	12. Deus Ex Machina/All Together Now

Princess Ozma is conferring with the Scarecrow in her study as she dots the “I” s and crosses the “T”s in her letter to Evardo. The straw man is to hold down the fort, so to speak, at the Emerald City Palace while the Princess visits Glinda.

“It would be wise if we do not frighten the people by this recent development. Assure them that everything is fine and that the Princess is in the Quadling Country assessing the situation with the Good Sorceress of the South.” 

The Princess seals the note with a green wax stamp bearing the Royal Insignia of Oz. She then discretely pulls a slender silver wand out of the bosom of her dress. She passes the wand over the letter and it rises up off the surface of the desk, suddenly encased in a green transparent bubble. She taps the bubble with the tip of her wand and it disappears from her study without a trace.

“I am wise not only because of my brains but because of my past experience as a ruler,” says the Scarecrow tapping his nose and winking a painted eye, “While we did see the Nomes digging a tunnel to somewhere, the nation is at peace as far as anyone knows.”

Ozma smiles and gives a sigh of relief before patting the Scarecrow on his stuffed shoulder. “Thanks old friend.”

The two walk towards the South Gate of the palace, the Scarecrow chattering on about how once the Princess returns he must really go visit Jinjur for a touch up on his face paint.

The two are met by Oscar, who is skidding through the halls from the direction of the Viewing Room, nearly slipping on the polished marble floor.

“Ozma! A er- well, a situation has appeared in the Picture- I would truly be a humbug if I did not let you see this before you leave. The Scarecrow may see it too if he likes.”

The Princess cocks her head at Oscar. The man is doing all he can to not say anything out right, so she waves to the Scarecrow to follow her and lets Oscar lead them back into the Viewing Room.

“I had difficulty making the picture go back into its frame. It refuses to shrink itself no matter what I do and continuously returns to one scene in particuar. Roquat is still digging under the desert for all I know but the picture keeps changing back to-” The Wizard gestures to the wall of the now empty auditorium. “Well it keeps changing to that.“

Projected once more upon the wall is the image of the grey old farm house. 

“Magic is, of course, a craft, and every craftsman must understand his tools. Even the most humbug of magicians would recognize when their instruments are trying to tell them something.”

Ozma can feel Oscars pointed stare. A breeze rustles the dry grass.

“Why that looks like Dorothy Gale’s house!” exclaims the Scarecrow. “Or at least from how she described it. It’s not exactly how I imagined it.”

“It’s stuck. I can’t get the picture back in its frame or to Magic Picture to show me anything else and I suspect it’s because-”

The image flashes suddenly, a bright green, before returning to the farm house.

“Oh, well, there it goes.” Oscar sounds weary.

The image flashes again but the green lasts longer. Long enough for the three to make out a lush green garden somewhere.

“Shall I ask Glinda about this while I am out?” asks Ozma. “I really should be going.” The images are now switching back and forth with ten second intervals.

“The first image is of Kansas,” says Ozma with certainty. “I don’t know what the second image is- it’s-”

“It’s the Royal Gardens!” exclaims the Scarecrow.

Ozma gasps. “Why exactly so!” It’s the view from her private quarters, but at ground level. Ozma thinks that she should get out more often.

The images flash back and forth between one another in a steady rhythm, the intervals between each image growing shorter and shorter and Ozma’s stomach lurches. This has happened before of course.

“This only occurs when I wish someone here with the Magic Belt and I am watching that person in the Magic Picture at that precise moment. If, for example, I were to wish to see the Scarecrow, the Magic Picture should show me the Scarecrow right here in this room, standing next to me. If I were wearing the Magic Belt and wished the Scarecrow to be in some other location, the location in the Magic Picture would change as well, because I initially asked to see the Scarecrow and the Scarecrow is now in another location.”

“Well, have you wished for anyone from Kansas to arrive in the gardens?” asks the Scarecrow.

“Not today,” says Ozma with a shake of her head. She had once, a long time ago, wished for Dorothy to arrive should she give the signal, but nothing had happened and it was not as if she could will Dorothy to make the signal. “I do believe the Belt is in my private chambers- unless someone has taken it without my permission. That would be a major a matter of concern if the Nomes are on their way.”

The Magic Picture finally settles itself- Kansas dissolves into the green garden. Ozma stares intensely at the scene. Oscar is still staring at her with big eyes, as if he’s waiting for her to figure out the meaning of it all. 

She wracks her mind for an answer. She turns to the Scarecrow but he seems as clueless as she is. Oscar seems to know but he’s not saying anything, how frustrating. This is clearly magic related. _When did she ever wish Dorothy back?_ Well, frequently, but never with the Magic Belt save that one time when her request was so specific she determined that it would never work.

The Magic Picture, however, seems to be disproving her doubt.

Ozma’s eyes are now big as dinner plates. Big as moons. She pales and shoots Oscar a look. He opens his mouth to speak but Ozma is up the stairs and out the door before he can say anything.

She moves quickly through the halls of the palace. She feels like the corridors are playing tricks on her and extending themselves longer than they ought to be. Various staff and citizens try to grab her attention but she rushes past them. She can hear the Scarecrow, behind her, apologizing in her wake. 

“Princess!” the Scarecrow shouts exasperated, trying to catch up to her, tripping over rugs and occasionally his own legs. “Whatever is the matter!” 

Her lips are shut tight and her eyes are determined. 

“Smart as I am I cannot find an explanation in my wonderful brains!”

_Where would that be? Beneath her rooms but in the gardens- what is the most direct path there?_

“A simple explanation would be most helpful!”

The Scarecrow is gaining on her. Oscar, poor old man, is hobbling behind them, not even close to meeting them. Ozma speaks but doesn’t stop moving.

“I used to check on Dorothy every Saturday at four o’ clock in the Magic Picture,” Ozma is surprised by how even her voice is. She had felt as if she was running but she is only walking briskly. “And when she clearly made no signs of ever returning, I made a wish while wearing the Magic Belt.”

They reach the archway that leads out to the verandah of the palace that leads into the gardens. She stops and chooses to further suppress the adrenalin rushing through her for a brief moment. Part of her worries that if she stops for a single second she will miss everything that she thinks is happening. Another part of her knows she must voice what is happening in order to make any sense of it.

“I wished-“

“Ozma!” Oscar is rushing down the hall as fast as his skinny legs can carry him.

“-that if ever Dorothy truly wished to come back to Oz again and gave the signal as she used to… she would come back.“

“Ozma!” the Wizard is catching up.

“But only if that is what she truly wanted! Oscar!,” she shouts. The Wizard stops in his tracks as she turns to him. “Do not try to stop me! You cannot keep her from me!”

“I was doing nothing of the sort,” Oscar begins, “I only wished to say that it might be best if-“ but Ozma has dashed off again.

\- - -

Its as if the floorboards of the room are slipping from out beneath her feet. Dorothy thinks that she is fainting at first but she is also aware of Toto tucked into her arm. She’s floating in midair for few seconds. It’s an odd sensation. She doesn’t quite know where to put her legs. What is odder is that she feels as if this has all happened before. 

Then there’s the rushing sensation of falling fast though she don’t quite know what she’s falling towards. Suddenly there’s something beneath her- hard and soft all at the same time and she collapses on her knees, eyes shut tight and clutching Toto to her chest.

She doesn’t realize just how tight she’s holding him until he yelps out in pain. It startles her and she loosens her grip, apologizing immediately.

“Oh! I’m sorry Toto. Did you feel that-“ she looks up and around and the first thing that she sees is simply _green_. Gone are the grey floorboards and thread bare carpet of her room. There’s green grass beneath her legs, tickling her calves. She seems to be sitting on a great green lawn. There are plants in front of her. Exotic verdant trees and bushes she’s only ever seen in books and seed catalogues. Flowers every shape and color she can imagine amongst enormous leaves that are taking in the sunshine. She looks up. The clouds are gone and in its place is a blue sky. Cutting into the blue are the tops of buildings. There are elegant green spires attached to towers that sparkle in the sun. 

“What on Earth?” she asks out loud.

Her eyes trail down the tops of the buildings. She’s seen these buildings before. Maybe in California? Is she in San Francisco again? Frisco had had fancy buildings but the sky was never this blue when she visited. Perhaps she’s just dreaming.

The towers are connected to a sprawling green and gold palace. She realizes she’s standing in a garden at the foot of it. In awe she sets Toto onto the grass.

Toto sniffs the air. Then he smiles and pants and runs in circles as if he’s a pup again. He stands in the middle of the lawn and barks triumphantly.

“Toto whatever has gotten into you!” asks Dorothy in shock. There’s a covered walkway along the side of the palace with wide low stairs leading to a garden path. Men and women, all elegantly dressed in all different shades of green walk past the palace. As they pass they don’t stare at her as much as they stare at Toto, who is yapping happily and wagging his tale.

Dorothy is at loss for what to say are do. The people here are dressed so fine. She determines that where ever she is, she is certainly not in Kansas.

There’s some sort of commotion happening next to the palace. The people next to the palace pause and whisper and in the distance someone is calling her name.

\- - -

Ozma tries to crush down her anticipation as she walks onto the verandah that surrounds the palace. There is a chance that this is all a fluke. The Magic Picture could be reacting to her presence- just showing her what she very much wanted to see so long ago. She’s not quite sure how that would work but she must also expect that no one is waiting for her in the garden. 

If this is a fluke she will not regret her actions. If there is no one in the garden she will continue walking round to the South Gate where the Sawhorse is surely waiting for her by now. She will climb into the Red Wagon without batting an eye and she will no longer think of Dorothy.

If Glinda has taught her anything in her magic lessons, it’s that magic is ruled by the heart- or what Dorothy or the Shaggy Man would have referred to as “yer guts”. 

She hears the barking before she even rounds the corner. Ozma’s gut is telling her that this time her magic worked. 

\- - -

A young woman with dark hair is rushing down the stairs. She is wearing a long white dress.

\- - -

There is no stopping her now. _It is Dorothy._ Ozma is barreling down the stairs now- at least as best as she can in a dress. 

She sees the green of her own shoes peeking beneath the hem. How many damned steps are there? 

\- - - 

Dorothy realizes the young woman with dark hair is no older than herself and then she is suddenly wrapped into a tight embrace. Something red catches the corner of Dorothy’s eye and she sees that there are poppies in the woman’s hair.

Dorothy feels the press of warm lips to her forehead and Dorothy pulls back. Big green eyes are staring back at her. Ozma is shocked by how solid Dorothy felt in her arms. She’s not a memory or a ghost or a magical apparition, she’s very real and very here. Dorothy is scanning her face in confusion and Ozma does not know if she can bear it if Dorothy doesn’t know who she is.

Dorothy suddenly recognizes the face. In her games and memories of her make believe land, the Princess had always seemed to be an ageless child. It hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps her playmate had been someone the same age as her. The figure in front of her was all grown up. And now that she knows who she is, the name of the Princess suddenly rises to the top of Dorothy’s mind.

“Ozma?”

Ozma had been planning on what to say in the event of Dorothy’s return for years. Amongst the options were “You’re back!” and “What took you so long?” and “Good to see you again, Dorothy!” During puberty Ozma thought she would kiss her on the lips, but quickly rescinds the decision. There was also the thought to say, “Welcome home!” but home for Dorothy was in Kansas so that wouldn’t do.

Now the moment is here- Dorothy is standing in front of her. She’s taller than Ozma expected. She’s lanky and her face is worn but her eyes are still as bright as she remembers and Ozma is all too aware that the time is here and now and people are waiting to hear about the Nome King, she ought to be on her way to Glinda’s right now. The matter of Dorothy’s sudden appearance and Ozma’s emotions do not take precedent over her people’s safety. But it’s Dorothy! Dorothy is here! 

“Ozma!” Oscar has caught up and Ozma doesn’t want to go to Glinda’s right now. She doesn’t notice that she is having difficulty breathing. She clutches at Dorothy’s arms- just to feel the solidity of the girl.

“I don’t believe in you,” Ozma says shakily, before promptly fainting on the grass.

\- - -

It’s as if the grass is slipping from out beneath her feet. She thinks she’s being magically transported to some far off place- maybe Glinda decided it would be faster just to transport her to the Quadling Country- but Ozma’s breath is quickening and she realizes she’s just fainting.

The last thing she notices before her head hits the lawn is that Dorothy’s shoes are not silver, but rather worn and brown and caked in mud.

\- - -

Dorothy is startled but she doesn’t scream. She looks at the Princess lying apparently unconscious on the grass and then at the people next to the palace who are staring at the sight on the lawn. She drops onto her knees and tries to revive the girl.

This was a mistake. She tries shaking her head, hoping she will remove herself from this fantasy and be back in her near empty room but nothing changes. She’s still on the lawn, the Princess is still on the ground. Uncle Henry had always warned her about daydreaming too much and now she’s done it.

A wiry old man in a suit with coattails and a green waistcoat sprints down the steps. Behind him is what appears to be a man covered in cloth. He can’t see. He tumbles down the stairs like a clown before picking himself up again. No, he’s not covered in cloth, he’s made of cloth. He’s a walking scarecrow!

“Dorothy!” The walking scarecrow exclaims her name out loud in a familiar warm voice and waves a gloved hand at her. His smile seems painted on.

Toto rushes up to the strange creature, wagging his tail, and the strange stuffed man bends over to pat him on the head, “And Toto too!” Toto stands on his hind legs and the scarecrow shakes the dog’s paw as if it were a hand. Despite the strangeness of the sight, Dorothy can’t help but laugh. She had tried to teach Toto that trick for years before giving up.

The old man is at the Princess’ side now, working to get her standing. A crowd is surrounding along the palace wall, everyone gasping and staring. Dorothy is sure she’s never seen this many people in her life- though she never minded crowds like Aunt Em does. Large crowds of people, palaces, scarecrows, princesses- Dorothy is certain that if someone could just tell her what is going on she can handle anything thrown at her, regardless of how bizarre the situation may be.

She looks at the old man again to see that he is speaking to Toto now. Toto, opens her mouth but instead of a sound normal for a terrier his size, a gruff human like voice comes out, speaking perfect English, “ She’s forgotten it’s real, she has!”

If this were a dream this would be about the time that Dorothy woke up. Perhaps she’s fallen asleep on the floor in her room. She ought to go down stairs and help Aunt Em get started with dinner. Her knees buckle and the grass is slipping beneath her feet. Oh good, she’s waking up. 

Toto, her dog, is still _talking_ and there’s an unconscious princess at her- well not at her feet anymore- the poppies in her hair are at eye level now and there’s the smell of green grass and she shuts her eyes feeling very tired but also very grateful that she’s waking up now.


	13. Dreamscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while- I've been pretty busy. Thank you for the lovely comments. This is something I'm carving away at in my own spare time, so bare with me.

There is an hour glass in front of you and it is spinning on a green tile floor that is so familiar you can not place where you have seen it before.

You reach for the hourglass and it shatters the moment your fingers brush against the glass. Sand spills up and around you, even the shards of glass fall into fine dust. You look up from the tile floor and there is your childhood home, not in the impoverished state it has so recently been, but exactly the way you remember it. The tree next to the house has leaves on it, the cows are fat and happy, your dog is young and jumping and playing with a young girl which you know to be you and you wonder how you can see you if you are here and you know you are no longer her.

The sand from the hourglass spreads across the field, somehow diminishing everything it touches. The green grass turns brown and brittle, paint chips from the house, the tree sheds its leaves, the fat on the cows seems to be sucked inward and only a skeletons covered in hide remains. A gust of wind comes and everything crumbles and collapses into dust, joining the sandy waste. Your dog runs back to you and you decide to pick him up before he turns into sand as well. As you bend down you notice that your regular old grey shoes have been replaced with a fine pair of silver slippers. A woman’s voice, familiar warm, is in your head now, telling you, “They can carry you to any place in the world in three steps, and each step will be made in the wink of an eye. All you have to do is to knock the heels together three times and command the shoes to carry you wherever you wish to go.” It is a memory; her voice clearer in your mind than a gramophone recording. 

You want to go home but home is falling prey to the dust. You wish to go some place safe. You click your heels three times and take your first step away from the encroaching sand. Suddenly you are falling through a crack in the earth and there is darkness all around you except for a light in the distance which is growing closer and closer. Before you are six colorful orbs, white, blue, rose, yellow, orange, and violet. They give off no heat but they become brighter the nearer you float to them, odd colors casting over your clothes and hands like a stained glass window.

You take another step toward the suns. You are in the desert again, this time sitting in a beautiful golden chariot, pulled by a lion and a tiger. The Princess is sitting beside you. She touches your hand absently as she speaks to the different members of her grand retinue. You see that you are all traveling on a long green strip of carpet stretching over the sands. You see three faces that are very familiar to you and you know their names. They are the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion. You wave at them and they wave back and you turn around to see something new on the horizon. Lush green land, sprawling in the distance. You hop out of the chariot to run towards it and you are somewhere new again.

You are on the ground, waking up in a field of green healthy grass, right on the edge of another field full of bright red flowers. You sit up and see in front of you a road paved with yellow brick. At the end of the road is a glorious looking city that you very much want to visit. The Scarecrow, the Tin WoodMan, and the Cowardly Lion are there and you realize that they have always been there. 

Toto snuffs at your hand. Mice are crawling over your legs and onto your chest, trying to pat you awake with tiny paws. They say, “Is she awake, yet?”


	14. In the Greenhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's keep this train rolling! This one of those scenes you know needs to happen but you don't know how it will happen until you sit down and take the time to write it.

The two women are seated on a green marble bench, surrounded by roses in a greenhouse attached to the side of the palace. 

It’s frankly overwhelming for Dorothy. _First she had thought she was waking up from a dream where her dog was speaking to her. Then she had an actual dream where the farm was . Then she woke up and it turned out the reality where her dog could speak was the real one. She had been laying out on a soft sofa and an older man with a long white curly beard and an elaborate ruff at his neck was telling the Scarecrow that as far as he could tell she wasn’t awake yet. Toto was snuffing at her hand._

Behind the Princess there are green glass windows with a view of a garden beyond. Everything here seems to be in shades of green and gold. The olive velvet cushions she is sitting on have gold silk tassels hanging off the corners. Green is by far and wide a much better color to see than grey but she is pleased that the roses are bright pink and that the poppy flowers in the Princess’ hair are so vibrantly red.

_The Scarecrow had been dressed in blue- denim jeans and a blue farmer’s shirt. Dorothy had sat up from the sofa immediately and crushed the familiar friend into a hug. It took her a moment to recognize the Shaggy Man but when she did she smiled wide and pulled him into a warm embrace as well._

The Princess- Ozma is keeping a proper distance from Dorothy, despite the fact that they share the bench. She’s adjusting her skirts, yards of fine ivory fabric with smudges of recent grass and mud stains. Even with the stains she looks every bit a radiant fairy princess to Dorothy. Everything about her appearance is made to stand out from her green and gold surroundings.

_The man in the coat tails had stepped into Dorothy’s sitting room and after Dorothy hugged him also, he stated curtly that the Princess required Dorothy’s presence in the greenhouse and suggested that before she do anything else, Dorothy should take some slow sips of water, which he produced from his sleeve in a green crystal glass._

“Welcome back, Dorothy,” smiles Ozma, “It’s been a very long time since you’ve been here last. Do you know why you came here?”

“No, I do not,” says Dorothy truthfully, “But lately I have been thinking about this place, for the first time in a long time. I thought Oz was a game I made up to amuse myself as a child, but I suppose it was all real this whole time.” Dorothy is still wrapping her head around that idea.

“Of course Oz is real,” laughs Ozma. She spies the brown shoes Dorothy is wearing. Really more covered in a thick layer of dust than mud as she had initially thought.

_There had been a foggy gap in the time between the image of the worn brown shoes and waking up on a chaise lounge in her own respective sitting room. Ozma sat up immediately, ignoring what felt like a bruise on the side of her head. Oscar was sitting across from her in an armchair, offering a gentle smile and a glass of water._

“Well, my dear, you must have wanted to come here. Or else the Magic Belt would have not brought you here.”

“I must admit I did not intend to come here. I was in my room in Kansas, thinking about this place, as I said, for the first time in a very long while. I was trying to remember how I used to start my games of make-believe as a child. I remembered that I all I had to do was cross my fingers and ask for you to send me here.”

“At four o’ clock on a Saturday,” adds Ozma.

“I didn’t think it would work,” Dorothy mutters, more to herself.

“I didn’t either,” states Ozma, also more to herself, glancing down at the brown shoes again.

“Please explain what has happened.” Dorothy gives her a sharp quizzical expression and Ozma exhales and holds her gaze as she explains.

_“What happened?” was the first thing she had asked, followed by, “Was that real? I still need to see Glinda.”_

_“Hold your horses,” cautioned Oscar, pushing the glass into her hands. Ozma sighed. Water was always the first thing the Wizard recommended when pressed with medical advice. She paused to take a sip. Sometimes it helped. She took a breath._

_“Why did I faint?”_

_“Well back in the theater we would call that ‘For Dramatic Effect’,” says Oscar, “But in your case it simply seems to be shock.”_

_“Shock?”_

_“Dorothy fainted shortly after you. That was more from the shock of being exposed to a large amount of magic after a long time of not being anywhere near magic. That happens to people. Mostly adults. This isn’t written in your history books but Glinda can tell you that I spent my first week in Oz out cold in a field. Children do handle it easier than adults though, mostly because they are still deciding how the world should and shouldn’t work.”_

_Ozma was only half listening to Oscar’s rambling at that point. She took the time to breathe and decided what to do next._

“We used to have it so that every Saturday at four o’ clock I looked in on you from my Magic Picture. If you wanted to come visit Oz at that time you would cross your fingers, and ask me to transport you over with the Magic Belt. A few years passed and it seemed you had forgotten about us here in Oz.” The Princess holds back a, “You forgot about me” and continues, “I started checking in on you other days of the week in case you had forgotten the day of our arrangement. I started checking at other hours in case you had forgotten the time of our arrangement. It was clear that you had either forgotten or did not want to come back at all. So I checked in on you, now and then, just to see how you were doing.” She holds back telling Dorothy how much she missed her or how terribly lonely she has been. “Being the ruler of a country, I am a busy person. I have many duties to fill and people I need to answer to. I couldn’t always be spending time at the Magic Picture. I made a wish on the Magic Belt, which is still yours I might add, that if you ever truly wanted to come back to Oz and made the signal as you used to, and once more I emphasize that only if you truly wished to come back, then it would transport you when you did. Today is Saturday. It’s about quarter past five now. I suspect it was four when you made your request.”

Ozma is telling the truth, and Dorothy can feel that much, but she also feels that there’s something missing from the story, maybe not a fact, but an emotion. Nonetheless Dorothy feels no distrust, for here is a friend who has always been concerned for her well being, yet has respected her need to remain on the farm. Then there is a sudden sense of relief that washes over her and the reality of where she is sinks in. The greenhouse with the tile floor suddenly becomes more real, even after all the talk about it being real. The pink roses are pinker and the cushion beneath her is soft and beneath that is the cool marble bench and beneath a sweet smile and elegant gown, Ozma is a young woman with nervous green eyes that are scanning her face for something familiar. 

Dorothy looks for the right words but none suitable are coming to mind. Instead she gives a smile, which may be the most genuine smile she's given for a long time, and the nervousness flees from Ozma’s eyes.


End file.
